Student (stressed): Miss, do you know my G.P.A.?
Me (I looked it up and told him)
Me: Holy Crap!!
Student (more stressed): What?!
Me: You’re fifth in your class!!
Student: What does that mean?
Me: It means that only 4 other juniors have higher grades than you! (and then I started to cry)
Student (thunderstruck): Wow!
Me: I’m so proud of you, dude! See, I’m crying!
Student: Awww (he walks over to give me a hug) Thank you!
Me: You don’t need to hug me, you did all of the work!!
Student (very sweetly): I know, but you’re the one who’s crying!
I randomly came across a picture of Rex Harrison today which, of course, made me think of the classic “My Fair Lady” … which prompted me to remember that time when I was a para-educator in a senior English class.
We were reading “Pygmalion” as a class and came across the phrase “They call me Hairy Faced Dick.”
A strangled laugh escaped my lips; I covered it with a fake cough, but no one was fooled… mostly because I was the only one who thought the line was funny.
So one of my students told me she’s reading “50 Shades of Grey” …and all I could respond with was, “Are you reading anything else?!” with a very pained expression.
I’m still struggling not to view my self as a coward and a quitter, but ultimately, I think I made the best choice.
I called in sick for tomorrow.
Usually, I would use the fact that I don’t have a fever (regardless of other symptoms) as justification for pushing through and teaching a full day + tutoring.
But, now that I’ve been so sick all weekend with only a very recent improvement (every emotion and exertion causes a coughing fit and blowing my nose makes me very dizzy), I know in my heart of hearts that I will not make it a full day, much less + tutoring.
The Daily Post: Daily Prompt – Who’s your hero? Tell us a story about why that person plays such an important role in your life.
My current unit, as many of you already know, is over “Beowulf,” but we’re reading Michael Crichton’s Eaters of the Dead first. We’ve been talking a lot about monsters and heroes and I’ve assigned an essay for the students to write about their heroes. So it’s only fair that I stumble upon this prompt and write about my heroes.
There was a time in my life when I only looked up to people who weren’t related to me, or at least, people who didn’t like my parents. If you asked who I wanted to meet, dead or alive, when I was a teenager, I would’ve chosen historical figures, like Abraham Lincoln or Osceola or Sacagawea or Eleanor of Aquitaine. History consumed my life: articles, textbooks, documentaries, novels… there were worlds that were so different from my own, preferable even.
But now that I’m older, my grandparents have passed away, and my parents have retired and live far from me, I’ve come to value family more and more. I guess the adage is true, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s moved away. Because of this, I think, I respect my parents more than I ever dreamed possible. We don’t talk that often, but I always go to them first when I have a crisis or need “life” advice. Dad more so than Mom; not that she isn’t equally wise – she is! – but Dad is very direct, he cuts through the emotional garbage to the bare naked truth. And I need this. I can be extremely emotional.
For this reason and sundry others, Dad is my hero. He doesn’t wear a cape and looks shockingly like a mountain man, but he has done everything in his power to be a good man, a good husband to my mother, and a good father to me and my siblings.
The other morning, my co-teacher commented that it sounded like I was getting better (I’ve been battling sinus-grossness for about two weeks). I agreed, it was nice to be able to breathe again, but I was still having trouble sleeping due to the steroids I was on.
“Steroids?!” one student (who was eaves dropping) gasped.
“This shouldn’t be news to you, kiddo, I’ve been complaining about this for awhile.” I said, as I looked disapprovingly at him over my glasses.
“Well, you know Mrs. Crumpett really wants to bulk up.” My co-teacher said with a smirk.
This got the whole class snickering, but the first student still didn’t get it.
So I laughed, mock-flexed my biceps, deepened my voice and said: “Yeah, my motto has always been ‘manliness is next to godliness.'” Ha!
Want to know if you’re spending too much time with kids? You use the word “drawed” in a sentence. I did, hoped no one noticed — but a bright little 4 year old corrected me, “I think it’s ‘drew.'”
Riddle me this: The class I have the hardest time with, had a horrid experience with the sub last Friday. They told me she was mean and rude and that they missed me A LOT! I also found out that she and I look incredibly alike and the majority of the kids didn’t even know she wasn’t me! (This is not a trick, I really wasn’t there last Friday.)
Today was awesome! No sarcasm intended. The kids acted right and if they didn’t, I couldn’t notice because I’m on a steroid high thanks to my perennial sinus/bronchial crap as well as a new batch of weird allergic reactions. Hello hives! Anyway… the kiddos who know me well thought it was pretty hysterical (laughing with me, of course) since I’m pretty sure I kept repeating “I just can’t focus on this…” and “Am I yelling at you?! It sounds like I’m yelling…”
Because the internet is a beautiful, wonderful place to find awesome teaching apparel! 😉